


Humiliation is a Skill

by arrafrost



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Embarrassment, First Sexual Experience, Frottage, M/M, Trapped in a Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrafrost/pseuds/arrafrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is quite good at getting into embarrassing situations when it comes to Derek. Now he’s stuck inside a crate with him. What could possibly go wrong in this box of steaminess?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humiliation is a Skill

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Torako's [art](http://torakodragon.tumblr.com/post/50370877984/sti-no-nope-dont-even-say-a-word-and-i) because people are now expecting me to fic everything Torah draws... and let's be serious... I kind of do.

Yup. It was official. Stiles hated his life.

Mainly because every time he went out _running with wolves_ he ended up in an awkward - no, awkward isn’t quite strong enough - painfully compromising situation with Derek. Once they’d been shoved into a closet together. Yes the innuendo of that was perfect in every way wasn’t it?

Now. Now they were in a box. More specifically a crate that Derek had hauled him into but it was in box form all the same. They’d been stalking an incubus near the area and followed it into an abandoned warehouse. That happened to be filled with rather deceptively large crates - that were inconveniently small once you were inside them. Stiles knew that. Because he was _inside one with Derek two centimetres from his face._

And that is where Stiles had been. For the past twenty minutes.

He could tell because his watch had a glow in the dark button and Derek kept hissing whenever he turned it on, as though the dull, green light offended his sensitive wolf senses.

“Stiles, will you _stop_ turning that damn thing on.” Derek growled under his breath. Speaking for the first time since he’d pulled Stiles into the box, telling him quickly to shut up and sit still if he wanted to live.

Stiles assumed the incubus had been nearby, Derek’s wolfy hearing or smell picking him up before Stiles had a chance to. Although he had tried to argue, vehemently, about their… positioning. Like, for instance, why Derek had thought it necessary to place Stiles _directly on his lap_ inside this significantly tight container where Stiles had to be incredibly careful not to brush their hips together. 

“You don’t think he’s gone by now?” Stiles whispered, ignoring Derek’s complaint entirely.

“No.” Derek replied. Short, to the point, without any explanation as to why though Stiles could postulate. That’s what he was good at. Translating the few syllables Derek uttered into entire sentences of _“No, I can still smell or hear or werewolf sense him nearby and I’ll have to use you as a meat shield if we get out of this awkwardly cramped situation I dragged you in without your consent and I apologize for that.”_

Okay… maybe he was stretching the last bit but it was his imagination and he needed something not to damage his calm.

Stiles squirmed a bit above Derek, feeling a twinge in his neck from how he was bent over. Everything was starting to hurt. His neck, his upper back, his lower back, his legs, he was pretty sure he hadn’t felt his left toes for at least five minutes and his right arm was starting to go numb as well.

The solution… check watch again. Only two minutes had passed but that wasn’t the only reason why filling the box with a green glow had been a mistake. While the light remained, Stiles accidentally looked up and caught Derek’s eyes staring straight at him. The glow bringing out the green of those hazel eyes and making Stiles jump, lightly smacking his head on the cover of the crate.

“Fuck…” He grunted under his breath, right hand moving to cradle the pulsing area on the top of his head.

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek scolded, as though Stiles could help the exclamation of pain from wood making painful contact with his skull.

Stiles simply glared at him until the green glow faded and they were left once again in the darkness of the crate, the only light leaking in from some of the slits in the wood.

It took a moment for Stiles eyes to adjust, though he imagined Derek’s had instantly become used to the light once more. Fucking werewolves… and their night vision. Even if Stiles wasn’t seeing glowing red eyes in front of him, which he took as a blessing because creepy.

It also took Stiles a moment to notice the new placement of his body within the box. Having been momentarily distracted by the repetitious thought of “ow,” Stiles hadn’t noticed he’d jumped further into Derek’s lap. Further as in right into it. As in no room between their now aligned hips. Stiles was literally pressed up against… and Derek was… and… _fucking life had it out for Stiles._

Stiles coughed, eyes looking up at the top, left corner of the box as he contemplated what he should do. Should be move out of Derek’s lap or would drawing attention to it make things more awkward? Had Derek even noticed how they were positioned now? What would he say if Stiles _didn’t_ move? This was also accompanied by thoughts of _Lacrosse, grandparents doing it, history class, not Lydia Martin, that corpse they’d found with maggots on it_.

Derek moved. Not away, not into a different position. He lifted his hips just enough, as though he was giving his lower back a little stretch, to push against Stiles.

None of the thoughts had worked.

“Sti-“

His hand flew out, palm instantly covering Derek’s lips as he hissed, “No! Nope! Don’t even say a word!”

Stiles heard Derek growl, as though he was trying to assert his authority over the situation and demand and explanation as to why Stiles’, the human’s, hand was preventing him from speech. “And I don’t care if you’re The Alpha or whatever! I’m getting out of here with at least half of my dignity!”

A low grumble came from Derek’s throat.

“No one says a word about it. To anyone. It’s happening. We’ll ignore it. And we’ll move on like civilized adults - or… mostly almost adults in my case. Details. Insignificant details because we’re ignoring this now. Lots of ignorance all around!” Stiles muttered low enough to be considered a whispered shout. Stiles might have a big mouth, but he could still keep his voice down when the circumstance called for it.

Stiles looked Derek dead in the eyes - and by dead in the eyes… he meant that he was boring his eyes into the wood of the box on his left looking anywhere _except Derek._ Because his life was humiliation. With a strict, not wavering at all voice, Stiles whispered, “Agreed?”

And he waited for Derek’s reply. He waited a very long time for Derek’s reply because it felt like hours had passed and he couldn’t even check his watch because his right hand was still stationed firmly on Derek’s mouth to prevent him from vocalizing… anything about what they were both experiencing. That might be a flaw considering he recently asked Derek if he agreed… although Stiles would easily translate his muffled grunts.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was what Derek actually did. No grunts, no growling, no forcibly removing Stiles’ hand from Derek’s personal bubble.

Stiles jumped back at the feeling, even though he couldn’t go far since he was cradled between Derek’s thighs and his back was already pressing into the wood a bit, and he instantly removed his hand from Derek’s face. He chose that moment to stare in horror from his open palm to Derek’s shadowed face.

“Dude, did you just _lick me?”_

And not just licked. From the lingering saliva on Stiles’ hand, Derek had mouthed at his palm and had almost started sucking on him.

Woah that was an image that was not at all possible in their current space and that definitely made Stiles’ already apparent problem worse. Not that Derek seemed to mind, which weirded Stiles’ out, because Derek rocked up into Stiles again. Purposefully. As if he wanted to feel Stiles’ hard on rub against his own in the confines of their jeans. Which was all together-

Holy god. Derek’s hard on. Pressing against him. Derek was hard. From Stiles being hard. Inside the tiny, limited space of a box.

“Jesus Christ…” Stiles bit his lip when Derek rolled his hips once more, hands dropping to the larger man’s shoulders of their own accord.

Derek’s hands, which were previously pressing against the sides of the box - one on the same side Stiles’ back was against and the other to their left - moved to Stiles’ hips.

Stiles’ eyes searched Derek’s eyes for answers, for any hint of why he was doing this with someone like Stiles, but the only answer he received was Derek using his hands to guide Stiles down to rut against his clothed erection.

He gasped, wide eyed and open mouthed, as any virginal teenage boy would be, and followed the rhythm that Derek set, grinding his hips as best he could in their cramped position and savoring the feel of Derek’s warm, hardness pressing firmly against his own.

It wasn’t going to be quiet in the box anymore. Not with Derek picking up the pace and pushing his fingers underneath Stiles’ shirt to allow his digits to dance across the teen’s sensitive stomach.

When Stiles whined, more audible than his previous hitched breaths, Derek leaned forward and covered Stiles’ mouth this time. With his lips. Derek was kissing him. The alpha of the pack was kissing a lowly human and oh my goodness that was a tongue pushing between Stiles’ lips.

Stiles sighed, opening his mouth at Derek’s insistence. His groan was lost in Derek’s mouth as that warm, wet tongue swept across Stiles’ teeth, his own tongue, the roof of his mouth. Like Derek was tasting him and loving every minute of it.

The friction was driving Stiles mad. Jeans on jeans, plus the layers of boxers. He was so close to proper sex but unnecessarily far at the same time. It wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t as though Stiles could exactly complain about how it felt to have Derek’s cock rubbing against his own in heated thrusts that would definitely have Stiles coming in his pants.

“Der-” Stiles managed to mutter once Derek removed his lips from Stiles’ mouth, choosing instead to trail wet kisses along his chin, down to his collarbone. Stiles didn’t get to finish his name because teeth, with a hint of fang, sunk into his neck - not enough to draw blood, thankfully - and made the teen moan as quietly as he remembered he had to be - which wasn’t much.

That was also when Derek decided that his hands were finished seeing how they could make Stiles’ stomach and abs twitch and instead they snaked around to Stiles’ back and shoved themselves down the back of his slightly too tight jeans. His nails, not nearly clawed enough to cut him, scraped lightly across Stiles ass before Derek gave a harsh squeeze and forced Stiles to jump forward.

Stiles bent over Derek, moaning loudly as their clothed erections were shoved hard against each other and he came, spilling into his boxers.

Derek continued to rut his hard length along Stiles’ own limp and sensitive cock until he bit into the teen once again and muffled a groan into Stiles’ shoulder.

As their gasping breath filled the space of the box, Derek’s tongue lapped away at the marks he’d left on Stiles’ neck. Marks that Stiles’ couldn’t be worried about at the moment because he’d just engaged in sexual activity with _Derek fucking Hale_.

This was going to be a wonderful thing to explain to Scott and the rest of the pack. _Oh yeah, just got stuck in a box for half an hour so we decided to dry hump each other until the incubus went away._ Totally legit…

“Stiles.” Derek whispered in a strained voice, as though he had called for the teen’s attention more than once.

“Huh?” Was all Stiles could manage because he was too focused on Derek’s lips brushing over his bruised skin and the thought of how wrecked he must look after that little… incident.

“You smell good.” He practically purred as he inhaled through his nose and that sent something warm down Stiles’ spine because woah turn on he hadn’t known about.

“Jesus Christ please tell me we can do this again when we’re not trapped inside of a small crate. Preferably in a bed but a couch would work too. Or a table, a wall, your car, my jeep, the ground if you’re into that sort of woodsy thing which you probably are and why not all of the above, huh?”

Stiles felt more than heard Derek’s laughter and he smiled, because maybe life didn’t hate him so much after all… but if that was the sound of claws outside the box he was hearing, he was going to need a refund from life or a sincere apology from the monsters which had _horribly_ bad timing.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [tumblr](http://arrafrost.tumblr.com) for more fics


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